Trial by Tide
by ruth baulding
Summary: Master and apprentice are called upon to settle a vendetta between warring clans. Qui Gon thinks outside the box, Obi Wan gets in over his head, and the local cuisine is something to remember.
1. Chapter 1

**Trial by Tide**

* * *

1.

Sekk Rithee, the planet's most burdened and least recognized internal security officer, chomped hard on his gob of sticky as he watched the diplomatic frigate lower itself to the landing pad on repulsors. He was trying to quit bacci, but the chewy glob stuck inside his cheek was doing little to alleviate his nervous jitters. Either these Jedi from Coruscant would get a hold on the situation – or all hells would break loose here on Vandor. And Rithee, naturally, would get either none of the credit or all of the blame. Either way you cut it, he was screwed, professionally speaking. That was the down side of his job: overseeing the internal affairs of the various ghetto communities which had settled, like jetsam on a dirty shore, here on Coruscant's dowdy sister-world. It was thankless task, all the way around.

The whine of the sublight engines as they cooled and slowed to a safe zero-state, and the hissing of hydro release valves as the ship adjusted its internals after a swift atmospheric descent briefly, drowned out all other sounds. Rithee spat the sticky into a corner of the tarmac, alongside a clutter of other trash. The droids would be round this evening to sweep the decks and tidy up. Vandor Intergalactic Spaceport had a grand name and a homely face; litter seemed magnetically attracted to its nooks and crannies, just as sentient clutter was attracted to its underpopulated continents. At last the ship's boarding ramp lowered to reveal the long awaited visitors: two figures, both cloaked and hooded, striding out of the ship and into the cool, misty evening of late summer with an air of impalpable confidence. Jedi.

Rithee met the pair at the edge of the oblong landing area, where he could stand on the curb of a pedestrian walkway, giving himself a small boost in height. It hardly made a difference; one of the men was so tall that he still dwarfed Rithee. The Jedi lowered their hoods, in a strange synchrony of movement, and the security official recognized the elder at once. They had met before- a while back, but still. Jedi Master Qui Gon Jinn was difficult to forget, even after ten years. Rithee noted with pleasure that Jinn had a good deal more grey in his long hair, and a few more deep grooves on his face now, much like himself. It was good to know that even Jedi weren't exempt from the humiliations of aging. Of course, he couldn't help but also notice (with much less pleasure) that Jinn had not the slightest sign of a burgeoning paunch, nor of any need for a stiff joint remedy, quite _unlike_ himself.

And who was this accompanying him? A much younger human, nothing but a teenager in fact, rigged out in the same Jedi gear: long robe, boots, all the usual, right down to the ornamented pommel and hilt of a lightsaber at his belt. Rithee didn't need to spot the thin learner's braid to identify this character; the way the youth watched Jinn's every move with respectful attention immediately branded him as the apprentice. Strange. He had pegged Jinn as the independent _I-work-alone _ type… but the Jedi wouldn't be the first lone wolf to have mellowed considerably in his middle age.

Formal introductions were exchanged; Rithee tried to break the ice with the youth. "Kenobi, is it? I met a Kenobi once…meanest star-forsaken bar brawler I ever got in a fight with. Relative of yours, by any chance?"

It was a jovial remark, delivered with a conspiratorial wink, but the Padawan's tiny, fleeting smile might as well not have been there at all. "Is there a resemblance?" he asked, blue eyes widening.

Rithee decided that he needed to set this youngster at ease. "I hope not!" he guffawed, amiably.

The Padawan bowed his head – a subtle dipping motion which was just shallow enough to suggest irony. "Then let us not seek to discover one."

The security official continued his good-natured chuckle automatically, for another few seconds, as his mind frantically grasped at the slippery meaning behind these words. He bobbed and smiled on the outside – but inside he was seized with a private doubt. The sharp and unmistakably repressive look Jinn directed at his apprentice confirmed Rithee's suspicion that the exchange had in fact been at his expense.

Better get straight down to business. "Were you able to peruse the holodoc I sent you during transit?" he asked.

"Of course," Jinn answered smoothly. "Has the situation changed at all in the last six hours?"

"No, no."

"That is good; we were unexpectedly delayed by an ion storm coming back into the Core."

Rithee nodded, sorting this out. So they hadn't been sent straight from Coruscant at his behest…apparently what registered as _immediate crisis_ in his sphere of influence was no more than _afterthought _ to the Jedi Council. Jinn and his protégé had been told to stop here as a detour on their way back from a more important, pressing affair. He snorted and glanced again at the younger Jedi. The Padawan definitely had that _can we go home now, please?_ look in his eyes. It was satisfying to see Jinn's tiny admonitory frown and the resultant swift change of mien on the younger man's part. This _was_ important to Vandor, after all, and Jedi were meant to serve without bias or preference.

He stuck his hands in his belt and continued on as though he had not noticed. "Both sides of the dispute have agreed to suspend hostilities pending the arrival of the Republic's peacekeeper. But I doubt they'll listen, even to you. It's too volatile, and personal…and they have little or no understanding of our laws. …Immigrants," he shrugged.

Vandor 3 was the other, and forgotten, inhabitable planet in Coruscant's system. In striking contrast to its near neighbor, much of the natural environment of the world was still visible and relatively healthy, including vast oceanic regions. Its populated areas were sprawling not with high rollers, eager entrepreneurs and the ubiquitous criminal underworld of Coruscant, but with the city-world's overflow: eager immigrants to the Core who did not possess the money or the ruthlessness to survive on the capitol planet, and who resultantly ended here in a much less glamorous suburban orbit. While Coruscant was a center of culture and sophistication, Vandor was home to ghettos and enclaves of outworlders who had not yet adjusted to the demands of such a life.

Keeping peace among the various settlers' groups was no easy job – and nobody knew this fact better than Sekk Rithee. Even a Temple prodigy could stand to learn a thing or two from him when it came to the sordid details of his particular duties. "You may not be familiar with the Quinloxa refugees here," he said patronizingly to the Jedi apprentice.

The Padawan's eyebrows lifted. "The Quinloxa hail from Querred Minor, which is controlled primarily by off-world industrial tycoons. The majority of the native population has been co-opted into factory work and the refinery interests that now support the planet's economy. In the last ten standard years, a significant portion of the dispossessed have relocated the Core, seeking refugee status inside the Republic. They tend to settle in tight communities where they preserve their native customs, and are slow to integrate into modern life. Presently, of course, they lack independent representation in the Senate and are not recognized as a sovereign political entity. Vandor has a Quinloxa population in the tens of thousands, scattered over the north-eastern continent, primarily in the outlying coastal areas designated as non-incorporated."

Rithee grimaced. "Didn't know Temple education extended to that kind of detail," he remarked, halfway between impressed and aggravated.

"We _do_ have access to a ship-board database," the young Jedi informed him dryly.

"Obi Wan," Jinn said, in a dangerously quiet tone. The two exchanged another inscrutable look, and the youth again dropped his gaze and snapped his mouth shut, chastised. "Who are the two clan leaders with whom we must meet?"

Relieved to be dealing with the master again, Rithee gestured toward the spaceport's central building, where a ground transport awaited them. They set off at a brisk pace, the Padawan falling a respectful step behind. "Coraloxa, and Loxanthan. Both families claim that the child in question is theirs by legal right, and each accuses the other side of kidnapping and manipulation. Sordid affair."

They reached the boundary of the landing area, and boarded a spacious speeder which would bear them to the Vandor government outpost on the coast of the southern ocean.

"And you are certain they would actually go to war over this?"

Rithee snorted in disgust. "These are primitive and stiff-necked people, Master Jedi. And first skirmishes have already occurred – young males on both sides taking pot shots at each other, you understand – not full out clan warfare yet, but it's a matter of time. Give 'em enough of it, and they'll exterminate each other before we can intervene. They refuse mediation from the local authorities. They claim we're all corrupt, taking bribes from the other side…you get the picture. Even the idea of Jedi wasn't received with enthusiasm, I have to warn you."

"We stand duly warned." Jinn's smile was a mere crinkling around his eyes, not much.

"Do they understand the _consequences _ if they attempt clan warfare?" the Padawan ventured. Apparently his period of penitential silence was done. Rithee wondered if Jinn and his student had a standing arrangement about these things?

"Well," he mused. "They have been informed repeatedly that the survivors will be deported, exiled, and the clan leaders prosecuted in a Republic court. But do they understand…?" He shrugged again.

"They most likely are incapable of seeing that far ahead," Jinn remarked, addressing his student. "Anger is a marvelous antidote to foresight and prudence."

"Hence the need for a Republic peacekeeper," the security official sighed. "Someone has got to make them see reason – whatever it takes, Master Jinn. I don't want a battlefield to clean up, and I don't want any of my people getting killed trying to break up the fray. Good luck. Perhaps you Jedi can find a solution and avert a bloodbath."

"Perhaps," the tall Jedi said, making no promises. "How soon will they speak to us?"

"Tonight, if you don't mind such a short deadline." As far as Rithee was concerned, the sooner he transferred this particular problem to the Jedi, the better. The Quinloxa tempers were running short.

The Jedi master merely laughed, humorlessly.

* * *

Qui Gon Jinn and Obi Wan Kenobi skimmed over the surface of Vandor's southern ocean in a small craft provided them by Vandor's government. The lightweight craft's repulsors barely ruffled the swelling waves below them, left hardly a wake behind. Salt wind picked up as they increased speed, flying over the deep blue waters along the coastline at an economical speed. The Padawan was left in charge of piloting; he managed the unfamiliar controls with relative ease, pushing them forward steadily, following the natural contours of the land, keeping the speeder low to the surface, hugging the rumpled face of the waters, preferring control and accuracy to wild speed.

Qui Gon watched the unchanging horizon thoughtfully. The sun sank below the hazy line, expiring in its own reflected glory. The heavens deepened to purple and then to black. Clouds obscured the distant constellations, but he could make out the bright spot which was Coruscant, an evening star to its homely cousin Vandor.

"Why would the Quinlox pursue a bitter rivalry here, when they fled their homeworld to escape oppression? I would think that being a minority group, far from home, would unite them in the face of greater challenges. It makes no sense to me, master."

The Jedi master shifted his attention back to his Padawan. "They brought their social structure with them – their entire culture. And, sadly, an engrained facet of that culture is resentment and suspicion. In the absence of a common enemy and oppressor, they have turned their habitual hostility upon one another. Anger does not need its original object in order to flourish, once it is deeply enough rooted," he replied. His many years of experience had confirmed the truth of this ancient and heartbreaking truth,

His apprentice nodded, thoughtfully, and checked the compass. Soon they should be able to glimpse the jagged peaks of the coastal islands where the immigrant Quinloxa had made their new homes. According to Sett Rithee, ownership of the small landmasses had been strictly divided between the warring families. Though this conflict was a mere child's squabble in size and scope, compared to some of their other recent missions, its internal dynamic was the same, the difficulty of resolution equal in measure. Planets, nations, cities, islands, families, individuals: peace was hard-won no matter its place and circumstance. A Jedi understood this, for he struggled also to establish absolute peace in his own heart. Size mattered not.

"Do you think there is any hope of our negotiations succeeding, if the Quinloxa are so irrational?" Obi Wan asked at length.

"There is always hope," Qui Gon reassured him. "Our problem is time. We must speak to both tribes tonight, and convince them to meet together at a summit, let us say one planetary rotation from now. Any longer delay will surely result in disaster. And most importantly, we must locate this missing child they are so angry about."

"The child…master, what if the boy no longer lives?"

Qui Gon paused before making reply. He had entertained this dark thought himself, and gone to the Living Force to seek answers. He waited for his student to find his own way. There was a long silence as the Padawan mulled over the possibilities, sought in the Force for knowledge.

"The present, not the past," Qui Gon reminded him.

Obi Wan's shoulders slumped a little. "I can't really see anything, master."

"In time. Be patient. But I think the boy is alive; I can feel the balance of things here; there are undiscovered possibilities. We must be mindful and act in the moment. Remember this when you speak with Coraloxa tonight."

"Yes, master."

"Oh, and Obi Wan?"

An expectant silence.

"When this affair has been concluded, and we see Sekk Rithee again, you will ask him for a detailed exposition of his views on the immigrant legislation currently pending before the Senate. I want a _full_ and accurate report on his perspective - in written form - four standard after we arrive back at the Temple."

A displeased but guilty silence. The Padawan took his eyes off the scintillating blanket of waves long enough to meet Qui Gon's eyes, perfect understanding brewing in their depths.

"...Yes, master," he sighed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Trial By Tide**

* * *

2.

The tidal surge carried them up two and a half meters, and then down again, salt spray flinging itself into their eyes and nostrils, dripping off barnacale-encrusted cliffs. Obi Wan crouched on the water-craft's bows, watching the jagged cliff face carefully, body tensed for a spring. Down, the waves sucked them. A pause. And up they rose again, waves smashing themselves against the wall like horned mountain tharex clashing in mating season. White spray drenched both Jedi. Obi Wan sprung mightily upward at the apex of their cresting rise, reaching for the cliff face, and then clinging there like another dripping barnacle.

Qui Gon waited until he caught a glimpse of motion, of cautious upward ascent, and then turned the ship about and left his dangerous proximity to the rocks and jagged walls of the bay's fortress, maneuvering his way past the ragged lines of waves breaking on hidden underwater reefs, skimming over barely submerged stone outcroppings. The Force guided him; the moon cast illusory promises on the seething waters. When he had escaped the trap unscathed, he looked back at the clifftop, where the dark silhouette of a ramshackle palace glowed like a paper lantern, lit from within by clusters of glow rods. The structure itself, even from this distance, was clearly constructed of plastoid partitions salvaged from industrial cargo containers, and roofed in a fibrous netting.

Below, visible as a shadow moving against darker shadows, Obi Wan steadily climbed to the summit of the sheer cliff, finding handholds and footholds in its slimy surface with the aid of the Force and much training. The Jedi master had no doubt in his apprentice's ability… but he still watched until the small figure had leapt lightly over the edge and stood outlined in the dull glow of the shanty-town dwelling atop the bluff. Qui Gon chuckled, fancying that he saw the young Jedi's shoulders rise in a droll shrug before he strode forward to meet with the clan leader housed within.

He had decided to assign Obi Wan the task of speaking with Coraloxa, instinct dictating that Obi Wan's natural charms might more easily ingratiate him with the reputedly fickle and suspicious matriarch. If reason, eloquence, and wit could not overcome the clan leader's obstreperousness, perhaps the Padawan's winning smile _could_ melt Coraloxa's maternal heart. One could always hope, and peace could be negotiated in any number of ways.

His own task took him to another inlet, one where tumbled rock fell in frozen avalanches to a narrow and rocky beach. Here, above the tide line, another masterpiece of ingenuity had been constructed, a second makeshift fortress occupying nearly the entire shingle, a castle of scraps and leftovers barricaded behind high walls topped with pikes. Some even had shock arrays fixed to their business ends, though the Jedi master privatey doubted whether these features will still functional. The walls themselves were clearly the gutted remains of holoboards, blank screens where once blaring advertisements and city-wide newscasts had screamed and flashed at Coruscant's passing crowds. Refuse disposal fees for tech garbage were steep on the capitol planet; many contractors found it cheaper and more expedient to tow the trash out here to Vandor and dump it in the unincorporated zones – where it was transformed by intrepid architects from trash into treasure, at the dictate of need.

Fishing equipment and small water craft were scattered outside the walls of Loxanthan's fortress, a huddle of primitive tools and boats resting on the sand under the shadow of the weird barricades. Qui Gon drew his own vessel up onto shore, deliberately taking his time about the business. Soon enough a bevy of aggressive and burly Quinloxa had stationed themselves before the gates – close enough to suggest threat, but not close enough to bring themselves within striking distance. Their webbed hands grasped the long hafts of shock staves, the weapons' pulse fields casting flickering blue shadows on the smooth sand piled before the entrance. The Jedi master smiled grimly to himself and squared his shoulders.

"Name and business," one of the guards demanded, his traditional garb of woven fibers parting along the chest to reveal curious tattoo markings. His gills flared along his neck, and wide coral eyes blinked slowly, indicating serious intent.

Qui Gon took a step forward, hands folded before him loosely. "Jedi Knight Qui Gon Jinn, here to speak with Loxanthan on behalf of the Galactic Republic."

"Jedi?" the sentinel demanded sourly. "Proof of this?"

Qui Gon quietly pushed aside the drape of his cloak to reveal the glint of metal at his side. The Quinlox's eyes rested on the 'saber hilt unblinkingly. "My friend," the tall man murmured. "You are better off without _proof."_

There was a muttering and grumbling in the wake of this pronouncement, but the guards seemed to understand this language all too well. Some were told off to remain stationed at the gates, while a foursome cautiously gathered about Qui Gon in formation, and duly led him through the creaking gates into the main courtyard beyond, a tumbled concatenation of outhouses surrounding a massive central structure, a sort of longhouse built of discarded plasteel panels and salvaged metal sheets. Merchant insignia and spacecraft identification codes still brightly adorned portions of the walls, the pitched roof. Qui Gon recognized the bold signet of the long defunct Old Dominion Freight Corporation, one of the many smaller trading franchises eaten up by the Trade Federation's Senate-sanctioned monopoly.

He was issued into the central house, nothing more than a single long hall with exposed rafters of wood and twisted fiber. A corrugated metal roof sloped to either side; the walls were adorned with organic weavings of seaweed and other fibrous matter,a traditional Quinloxa art form; and the space was warmed by several old fashioned thermal generators humming away in the corners. Loxanthan sat in state at one end, surrounded by several hoary councilors, their thick aquatic skin age-mottled and sagging heavily.

"Master Jedi," the fierce Quinlox greeted his visitor. "So the Republic has at last sent aid. You are here to help me retrieve my grandson from those perfidious Cora-quin. This affair is outrageous," he continued. "Their dealings must be met swiftly, and without mercy."

Qui Gon interrupted the incipient tirade. "Your pardon. I am here to see this matter settled peacefully and equitably. If indeed the Cora-quin are unjustly holding your grandson –"

"Who _else_ would be?" the clan elder roared, his voluminous jowls quivering, gills flapping open to reveal scarlet slits of wrath along either side of his neck. "His tramp of a mother stole my _son,_ and now her people are trying to steal his child, keep the boy away from his fathers and fathers' fathers, in violation of all our laws! Have we not enough reason to hate those conniving, brine-bibing, foul –"

"Enough," the Jedi master quietly interposed. "Tell me: where are the child's parents?"

Loxanthan sighed deeply, anger brewing in his opalescent eyes. "I will _tell_ you where: they are gone to the deeps, to sleep with the ancestors. And why? Because my son would have a Cora-quin wife, against the clan's wishes. She cast some vile dark magic over him, I promise you. Against the wishes of _her_ clan. Our families have been enemies for generations, and there has never been such an abomination before. These two young fools built their own quin-talog on the hill, apart from any clan, like gibbering idiots who tempt fate. And for what? I'll tell you: to produce a child, a stone about both their necks. The girl died in labor, for none of the birthing wives would help her, shunned and disgraced as she was. My son threw himself off the cliffs afterward, still bound in her evil enchantments."

"But what happened to the child?" Qui Gon persisted.

"There was a nursemaid – an old crone, caretaker to the Cora-quin girl. She was there – doubtless she took the infant back to them. But he is _ours_ by birthright – his father was Loxa-quin, and so the child is too. He belongs to us. He is of our blood, And we will spill _all_ theirs before we see them taint our own blood with their lies and perfidy."

"There have already been two deaths," the Jedi countered gravely. "Will you readily invite more? You spoke of fools who tempt fate. Is that not what you do by courting warfare?"

The Quinlox scoffed at these words. "What pretty solution do you offer in its stead, Jedi? The Cora-quin have kidnapped the boy, and they are so bold as to accuse _us_ of doing the same. There is no reasoning with such fanatics and liars. They respond to every accusation with denial, with protests that they do not know where the boy is, that we have him already and torment them for no good cause – anything but the truth."

Qui Gon stood tall before the enraged chieftain. "My solution is this: that you leave the question of truth to me. I will personally find the boy's whereabouts and insure his safety. You, in the meantime, will meet with Coralox tomorrow at sundown, on neutral gorund, to determine the legal custody of this child, with Republic mediation."

"You?"

"Yes. I will be present at the meeting to ensure a peaceful outcome. And I will find the child before that time."

The Quinlox leaned back in his wide throne, still trembling with contempt for his rivals. "You promise much, Jedi! Tomorrow evening, then. But I tell you this: if you have not found the child by then, or if that meeting goes ill, it is war the next morning. They have stolen our blood and we will _pay_ in blood. What do you think of that?"

"I think it very foolish."

The leader waved a hand at him, spluttering dismissively. "You have no family. What do you know about such things?"

But the Jedi master was already departing, his tall figure retreating into the shadows outside.

* * *

Not far away, in the opposing clan's encampment atop the high cliffs, Obi Wan Kenobi was finding Coraloxa no less a difficult personality. Not that the clan matriarch was rude to him; far the contrary – once he had been ushered into her rather… overwhelming… presence, the massive leader of the Cora-quin tribe had developed a spontaneous fondness for him and had taken him into her confidences. She sprawled upon, indeed she _overflowed,_ a creaking throne of driftwood logs and metal reinforcements. Its ornamental back rose behind her head in grotesque contortions, the sea polished wood as twisted and unpredictable as Coraloxa's logic.

"…and those mollusk-eating brine-drunk Loxa-quin have the child and will not admit to it! Old Nexaloxa, my daughter's nursemaid, whom I sent with them when they abandoned reason and wedded against all clan customs – she has gone mad, barricaded herself inside their accursed talog on the hill. My daughter dead, that she nursed and raised like she was her own. And that worthless cur husband of hers drowned like he deserved, and then the child ripped away form her arms…no wonder the poor thing is insane. Mad from grief! She has a mother's heart, and what mother would not go mad at such treatment? I am half mad myself!"

The young Jedi patiently waited out the storm, privately noting that he would have amended the latter diagnosis in the direction of eighty or ninety percent, and focused on anything but the waves of indignant hatred spewing from the matriarch as she ranted. He unwound the skein of her words from the seething emotions she projected in the Force, anchoring himself in the intricate weaving of the mats beneath his feet. They were fashioned of reeds, and in their pattern were the shapes of waves and sea foam, and some strange undulating creatures swimming amidst soft ocean grasses. The walls of the chamber were made of an unfamiliar and stiff netting, impervious enough to keep out the cold fog but – unfortunately- also impervious enough to keep _in_ the assaulting odor of quanta worms. The court behind Coraloxa was feasting – masses of tiny freshly hatched worms wriggled slightly in mounds upon thin flatbread and seaweed, passed hand to hand with the shell drinking cups. The Quinlox slurped up the delicacy with enthusiasm. Obi Wan swallowed hard and wrenched his abhorred gaze away.

The matriarch noticed his momentary distraction. "Are you hungry, dear? Coming all this way from Coruscant and I have not thought to offer you proper hospitality! We are not savages, you know."

He made a hasty bow. "Thank you, but I require nothing." He blinked, trying to banish the revolting spectacle from his mind's eye. Focus. "You said the nursemaid Nexaloxa has barricaded herself inside the parents' home?"

"Yes, yes, poor creature, she's mad with grief, as I told you. She won't come out and we can't get in. you see, the talog is surrounded by mines, and she has activated them. If she loses her wits completely, and wanders outside herself without deactivating the security system, …._boom!"_ The enormous Quinlox accented this last descriptive remark with a wide flap of her webbed hands, upsetting the drinking shell at her elbow. Thick and pungent liquid seeped in the mats, and servants scuttled forward to clean the mess. Obi Wan wondered how many cups of this beverage she had consumed, and whether it was indeed Coraloxa speaking or the wine, but he had no way to know, not when the Force was already so turgid with her rage and his own disgust.

"Mines," he repeated. Mines. Wonderful. "Something they salvaged, from an offworld source?"

The matriarch pointed to the ceiling, the walls. "We live off the scraps of the rich here," she snorted. "What do you think?"

"I see." Those mines could be malfunctional, factory rejects or worse. He had a bad feeling about this. Still, the nursemaid was an eye witness, and must be interviewed.

"Those two young fools installed them around the perimeter of their home – out of spite, to prevent either clan from molesting them, as though we cared. They said they refused to participate in clan warfare.. and look what has happened! Because of their obstinacy there will indeed be war. We will not tolerate the Loxa-quin's interference in our family any longer."

Obi Wan frowned. "Your pardon, but my limited understanding of your laws leads me to think that the child is always considered a part of its father's clan?"

To his astonishment, Coraloxa actually rose from the throne in one powerful motion, a swift and ferocious heaving of muscle and fat he would not have thought possible in one so rotund. Her vestigial tusks stuck, spearlike, from her lower jaw and her gills rippled. "That clod of excrement was no _father_ to that child. Without the clan mother's blessing, his coupling with my daughter was mere _rape!_ There is no law that protects their crime."

He bowed again, gagging on the omnipresent stench of quanta worms. "Thank you for clarifying," he choked out. "My information was limited."

A servant handed the clan leader another brim-full shell, and she downed the contents in one go as she settled majestically back in her throne, its beams groaning slightly beneath the burden. "You have nice manners. Are you sure you will not dine with us?"

_Force take me first_. "I must seek out the missing child," he politely demurred. "And I ask you this favor: will you delay your attack upon the Loxa-quin one day? Grant me that much time to seek a peaceful solution to this dispute, before your clans begin slaughtering one another."

"One day will make little difference," Coraloxa snorted.

"Indeed," he insisted. "So you can spare it for the sake of peace. Give us one day in which to find the child."

"And then?"

"Then, you must meet with Loxathalan to negotiate a settlement. You will have Jedi assistance. If you can meet these terms, many lives will be saved. Many of your clan will live who would otherwise die in warfare with the Loxa-quin."

The matriarch considered this proposal, grumbling to herself. Her wide, coral colored eyes squinted at him assessingly, sliding over his comparatively small figure with a mixture of dubiety and indulgence, as one would look at a toddler proposing to slay a draigon. He offered his most winning smile.

"Very well, Jedi-ling. I grant you one day. And I will appear at this meeting you propose. But you cannot convince the Quinloxa with your pallid and abstract Republic laws, I warn you. We stand by our traditional ways: they are rooted in our hearts and the tides. No other clan will ever take this child from us, and no bloodless dictate of the Republic will force us to give him up. Blood is a deeper bond than any other, Jedi. There is _none_ stronger."

"There is the Force," Obi Wan said quietly.

"You are too young to know what you are talking about," the matriarch declared, but the Jedi was already making his formal bow and departing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Trial by Tide**

* * *

3.

Dawn broke abruptly over Vandor, casting a swift trail of fire over the ocean, a blazing sweep of light that crept up the cliff face and touched the two Jedi huddled under their cloaks. Qui Gon was awake instantly, greeting the new day and the Living Force with customary quiet joy. He reached out a hand to stir some vitality into his apprentice. This extra stop on Vandor came at the tail end of a long and sleepless mission, and the brief two hours' rest did not seem sufficient for his still-growing companion.

"Obi Wan."

"Nnmmgrrr," the young Jedi replied, rolling over with a wide yawn. But all incoherent objections aside, he did manage to obediently find his feet a moment later. He blinked, brushed sand and grit from his short hair, and then stood squinting blearily at the hot sun balanced delicately on the wavering horizon.

Qui Gon handed him a water canteen and swallowed a ration pellet from his belt. There was much to be accomplished today. "Let's go," he said, gesturing in the opposite direction, up the hill leading to the exiled couple's controversial dwelling place, their talog built outside either clan boundary.

They hiked up the trail marked by white stones, while a warm morning breeze beat at their backs. Ten minutes later, when the young Jedi had finally attained full consciousness, he broke the comfortable silence. "Coraloxa said the talog was surrounded by mines, master."

"Yes, you told me that last night just before you fell asleep on your feet," Qui Gon reminded him, hiding his smile. A sea bird wheeled overhead, shrieking raucously.

"Oh." Obi Wan found a loose pebble on the edge of the trail and trundled it along the path with a careful series of Force nudges. "Well, it's still true."

Qui Gon watched the tiny object bounce and skitter uphill, as they approached a long sloping dune, smoothed by the evening breeze into a featureless expanse of white sand. At the summit if this pristine hill sat another talog, much smaller than the fortresses of the inimical clans, little more than a quaint shack comprised of welded metallic scraps.

"That's a bit of maglev track," Obi Wan observed, curiously, letting the pebble drop into lumpen stillness. "And _that _ is the viewport of a ship."

"It makes a pretty wall," Qui Gon decided. The house's overall shape was reminiscent of the modernist sculptures gracing the Legislative Court Park on Coruscant, the wild sweep of netted roofing like a bold stroke of defiance, a banner set here to flutter even after its founders had perished. "I like it," he added, ignoring the look his Padawan sent his way, and cautiously edging toward the beginnings of the dune. Fine grains swirled in the morning breeze. A few hardy succulents poked up their fat pads and stalks, or opened a brilliant mauve flower to the clear sky, inviting a stray bezzil or bird. But nothing moved, and no sound carried to them from the talog.

"I feel danger here," Obi Wan said, glowering at the lovely heap of sand. "It's riddled with mines." The wind picked up and traced delicate patterns on the face of the hill. A native reptile or two scampered across the hot surface, leaving a faint etching of footprints and a sinuous track where their tails dragged behind.

"I feel a presence in that house," the tall Jedi added. "Nexaloxa must indeed be hiding inside. Our problem is finding a means of entrance." He hooked his thumbs through his belt and surveyed the deadly slope from every possible angle.

Beside him, Obi Wan stirred. "Look – the lizards don't trigger anything. A repulsor craft on low frequency might be able to pass over the mines without setting them off."

"Or it might trigger them all at once. Very sensitive receptors can interpret a repulsor field as actual pressure. It all depends what sort our Quinlox friends buried. Besides, we haven't a repulsor craft here, and no time to call one in from the spaceport."

The young Jedi looked up at him confidently. "But you can sense where the mines are, can't you master?"

It was flattering to be thought so omniscient, so serenely capable. Qui Gon offered him a rueful smile. "_Not_ without a shadow of doubt. And one mistake could kill both of us. I'm not willing to take that risk." He frowned over the puzzle a bit more. There was nothing sufficiently elevated to anchor a cable; they could not jump; they had no aircraft. One way or another, they would have to cross this field on foot.

"If we cannot avoid the mines, Padawan, what is the next best thing?"

Mischief warmed the morning further, sparking invisibly between them. "Set them off, of course," Obi Wan replied, casually. "Then we know where they are."

"Time for a game of Flying Rocks, I think," the Jedi master announced.

He watched his apprentice eagerly gather an arsenal of heavy stones, piling them diligently at his feet. Flying Rocks was a time-honored favorite pastime among the very youngest initiates in the Temple. A simple child's game in which the contestants would struggle to levitate small stones and propel them aloft in a race against each other, it never failed to amuse each successive generation. When a child's concentration slipped, or the object's distance rendered it too difficult to control, the rock would drop heavily to the ground. Whoever managed to "fly" his stone the furthest was the victor, and much to be applauded for his focus and mastery of elementary Force manipulation skills. Obi Wan had once confessed to deriving endless enjoyment from the game when he was four years old; and Qui Gon had it from another reliable source that his Padawan had at the time actually been a bit of a holy terror, wreaking havoc in the indoor gardens with his undisciplined indulgence in the sport until he had been apprehended and gently but firmly set to more constructive tasks.

Soon enough Obi Wan had collected a sizable mound of ammunition, a pile of sea-smoothed stones and discarded duracrete chunks gathered from the surrounding area. "The winner, " he grinned, "Is excused from any tedious essay assignments with which he was cruelly burdened prior to the contest."

The tall Jedi raised an eyebrow. "And the loser will accomplish said assignment with a carbon _stylus,_ by hand, on flimsi. No datapad."

Even such barbarous terms of engagement could not intimidate the bold Padawan, who merely shrugged and held out a hand politely. "You first, master."

Qui Gon lifted the first projectile with a wave of his hand. "Those who play for high stakes, Obi Wan, are eventually bound to lose." He sent the heavy object floating out over the dune for four meters and then let it drop. It landed with a soft thud in the sand, crushing a succulent plant. Nothing else happened.

"There are no such things as _chance _ or _high stakes_ in the Force, master," the Padawan primly replied, levitating the next rock to a place some three meters past Qui Gon's before releasing it to gravity's pull. It fell heavily to the gritty dune. Again, nothing happened.

"Hm. From whence it follows that your eventual defeat and punishment is the will of the Force, an inevitable destiny laid upon you." Smiling, Qui Gon lifted another slab of stone to a position several meters past Obi Wan's. It dropped with a soft thud –

-and a violent blast sent sand and shards of rock sky-high, showering them with particles and dust. Birds rose into the sky in shrieking chorus, wings pounding frantically, and a skittering of panicked reptiles erupted in every direction. The explosion rang in their astonished ears for several painful seconds. The scent of ion explosives lingered in the air, which shimmered hot in the aftermath.

"You win that round," Qui Gon said grimly.

They played the deadly game in turns until they had created a path of wide-spaced stepping stones leading all the way up the dune, to the talog's low surrounding wall. Qui Gon accidentally set off two more mines, while Obi Wan triggered three others, leaving their friendly contest in an unsatisfying stalemate. The smoke and heat of explosives filled the warm morning air, and streaked their sweating faces with filth. But they knew with certainty that each of their markers, set at three-meter intervals, was a safe spot. Leaping like a pair of Corellian gazelle, they made their way from rock to rock, all the way across this improvised bridge. At last they stood before the low lintel of the talog's front door.

The panel swung open, to reveal a very small, shriveled, and frightened-looking Quinloxa elder, clutching a whimpering baby in her arms.

* * *

"The meeting is to be held tonight, on the southeastern shore, under the bluffs. That is land claimed by neither clan. We will personally escort you and the child, and guarantee your safety during the negotiations," Qui Gon told the tremulous nursemaid some twenty minutes later.

The old Quinloxa sighed and wrung her webbed hands. "I told you: I will not leave this talog. You can take the child by force, I suppose… I cannot stop you. But I would be a fool to leave. Both sides will blame me for doing what I thought best."

"Why did you stay?" Obi Wan asked, puzzled. "The boy's disappearance has provoked great hostility. The clans are ready to kill one another."

The shriveled woman was silent for a long moment, fretting over his words. She bustled about preparing the traditional Quinloxa tea for her guests – a kindness they had initially declined, but which she insisted upon serving them anyway, with the quiet obstinacy of old age.

"You would not understand," she decided at last. "My mistress and her love.. they had peace here. After generations. In this one house, they had peace. I chose to remain, and to keep the baby with me. Outside these walls there is war, perpetual conflict. On Querred Minor, here, it makes no difference, the Quinloxa are doomed to strife."

Obi Wan glanced at Qui Gon, unsure how to proceed. The Jedi master merely reverted to his original point. "We could take the child," he said. "But I would much prefer you accompany us, and tell the truth. It will alleviate much ill feeling."

Nexaloxa sighed plaintively. "I do not see why the child has to be present at all. Here he is safe. We have food and power cells stored, enough for years. We can wait untill the families have cooled down or forgotten their anger. Either way, the baby need not be part of it.'

Qui Gon leaned forward, accepting the steaming bowl she handed him. "Neither side will listen to reason unless they see the child. And there will be no forgetting or cooling down. You know this. The clans will go to war tomorrow at dawn unless some other mutually agreeable solution is found. By hiding here, you _allow_ bloodshed to occur. Is that what you want?"

The ancient Quinloxa sank into a seat, setting the tea tray on a low table with shaking hands. "This is too much for an old woman to bear," she pleaded.. "After his parents died…all I hoped was to provide a peaceful life for him. Corathalan is like my own child.. my grandchild… you would not understand, Jedi."

Qui Gon caught the flicker of annoyance his apprentice felt at this repeating refrain, and shot him a steadying look. There were many in the galaxy who thought the Jedi ignorant and incapable of empathy. Erroneous as such beliefs were, they were deeply ingrained… and would in no way be changed by a single Padawan's propensity for trenchant rebuke.

Obi Wan interlaced his fingers and twisted one corner of his mouth into a fleeting expression of chagrin. Qui Gon's answering nod of agreement was as subtle as the brush of moth wings.

"Without your cooperation, I doubt there will ever be peace between the clans. And you cannot shelter the boy here forever. If the clans do initiate a war of vendetta, the Republic will deport all your people to colony worlds. You would be included in that fate, and the child as well. Do you wish your people to suffer yet another upheaval?"

The pathetic elder sighed again, and her deep opalescent eyes stared forlornly at the Quinloxa infant which lay kicking his legs on a small woven blanket at their feet. The baby boy dropped the seashell rattle he had been chewing on, and began to whimper. Obi Wan picked up the toy with the Force and dangled it in midair before the child, who laughed and stretched out a fat hand to retrieve the floating object. The rattle flew into his hand before his fingers touched it.

"Master…"

Qui Gon sat up straighter.

"Do that again, Obi Wan," he said as the baby once again dropped the toy, clearly thinking this a delightful game. The young Jedi caused the small object to rise in the air and hang suspended an arm's length from Coranthalan's round face. The child laughed, and frowned, blowing a spit bubble of intense concentration, and then began to kick and whine in frustration as he strained fruitlessly to grasp the toy with both reaching hands. Obi Wan's hand remained motionless, two fingers curled upward, holding the rattle passively in the air.

The baby grunted, yelped, and arched his back. The toy shot into his tiny fist, and he promptly shoved it back into his mouth.

The two Jedi exchanged a long and meaningful look.

Nexaloxa did not seem to notice, so absorbed was she in her grieving thoughts. "And what purpose will be served by this meeting, anyhow?" she lamented. "No matter which clan takes custody of Coralanthan, there will be disaster. Neither will truly yield; and the loser will resent your judgment. As soon as you leave this world, they will be back at each other's throats. Unless you intend to stay here always, the situation is hopeless. There is no third alternative."

"No," Qui Gon said slowly. "There may yet be another choice."

"What do you mean?" the old one demanded.

"First you must tell me this: what do _you_ wish for this child?"

"That is simple," the ancient nurse replied in her quavering voice. "Whatever is best for him – whatever will give him a peaceful existence, a good life, safe from the folly of both families. This is what I wish."

"Then bring the boy to the meeting with us tonight," the Jedi master insisted. "There is hope yet."


	4. Chapter 4

**Trial by Tide**

* * *

4.

Nexaloxa proved a most insistent hostess; she plied them with food – simple flatbreads and dried seaweeds, nothing as alarming as the quanta worms Obi Wan had encountered the night previously – and invited them to take advantage of her enclosed patio during the hours of the afternoon siesta. Qui Gon meditated, resting in the Living Force and seeking its firm anchorage in preparation for the difficult negotiations ahead; Obi Wan, at his master's behest, spent the sweltering afternoon hours deeply asleep in an open weave hammock slung between roof supports. When the sun finally relented and began to slink toward the inland horizon, the company made their solemn way toward the appointed meeting place, Nexaloxa carrying her precious burden swaddled in thin blankets, the Jedi walking ahead on the narrow trail leading to the stretch of shore beneath high bluffs.

"What I don't understand is _why_ neither clan thought to look in the talog, rather than assuming the other had kidnapped the child. What accounts for such blindness to the obvious?"

Qui Gon strode at a measured gait, mindful that the elderly Quinlox could not keep level with his habitual ground-eating pace. "Anger, again. There is no more effective blindfold in all the galaxy. An angry man will overlook truths thrust under his nose, if they fly in the face of his hatred."

The trail took a sharp twist along the sea-cliffs, and the sun sank further. "That does not bode well for the negotiations tonight, master. We can thrust this child under their noses… but what good will it do?"

"What do you suggest?"

Obi Wan snorted. "We can hardly propose cutting the baby in half and sharing equally."

"Yes, I think they would likelier cut _us_ in half. But the solution to this dilemma is much simpler. We shall do as we would in any other setting. The child's rights outweigh the claims of his tribal origins."

The young Jedi released a long sigh and scanned the horizon pensively. "Yes, master… but do you really think that is wise? Suggesting such a thing will only infuriate them further. We will be embroiled in a three-way battle. It seems like a fine way to stir up further trouble to me."

Qui Gon considered this thoughtfully. "Perhaps. But remember this, also, Padawan: sometimes unity can be found only in the face of a common foe. I do not have much hope of uprooting the Quinloxan habit of anger and suspicion. But on Querred Minor, when the clans were oppressed by a common enemy, they enjoyed greater harmony among each other. If we cannot change their habits, we can at least channel and direct them."

The Padawan opened his mouth to speak and then seemed to think better of it. He fell into a brooding silence, disapproval emanating off him in waves. "I still have a bad feeling about this, master."

The tall Jedi chuckled. "I know."

* * *

The summit was held beneath a single stretched tarp, held aloft by thick poles of driftwood. Traditional Quinloxan carvings had been crudely etched into the supports, and modern glowlamps had been set along the perimeter, picking out a luminous border in the sand. Sentinels posted at each corner held shock staves erect, their eyes looking out at the tides, which lapped at the tumbled shoreline, thundering among the scattered stones and then hissing in retreat. Dignitaries form both clans sat beneath the woven roof, while their fellows were gathered upon either side of the structure, glaring at each other across the invisible boundary line .

Qui Gon stepped over the glow-lamps, into the shelter of the roof, Obi Wan at his side. He stood tall, cloak thrown back to reveal the lightsaber at his belt, a clear reminder to the pugnacious Quinloxa of Jedi skills he would rather _not_ use.

"You are here to settle a dispute regarding custody of the child Corathalan, to whom both your tribes are bound by bloodline," the tall man addressed the assembled elders and leaders. "Are we in agreement?"

"We are here to regain what is ours by right," Loxanthan spluttered. "Do not mince words, Jedi."

"Then you come only to return empty handed," Coralaxa snorted. "The Jedi knows this."

Qui Gon held up a hand impatiently. "You must first agree that you both seek _justice_ in this matter. Then we can proceed."

The two Quinloxan chieftains reluctantly acquiesced.

"My apprentice and I have found the missing child, as we promised," the Jedi continued. "Each of your tribes has falsely accused the other of kidnapping him."

There was an uprising of angry murmurs at this, and younger members of the tribes waiting outside the sheltered meeting place shouted harsh invective. Qui Gon glanced sideways to see Obi Wan's fingers subtly curl about his saber's hilt. He brushed his hand against the young Jedi's cloak sleeve, a near invisible warning, and the Padawan relaxed. A little.

"Are you calling us liars?" Loxanthan roared.

"You have proof of this?" his counterpart demanded.

"Yes. The child has been living with neither clan. In all the time since his parents' death, the boy has been under the protection of Nexaloxa, his nurse, in the quin-talog on the hill. He has been neither Cora-quin nor Loxan-quin. He is without tribe or clan name."

As he spoke, the old nurse moved forward from the shadows where she had lingered, unnoticed and overlooked. She lifted the fussing baby in her arms, displaying him to all present. Two of the sentinel guards stepped into the enclosure toward the tremulous nurse, but Obi Wan slipped protectively in front of her, flashing open challenge in posture and eyes. The Quinlox growled at him in their native tongue, but he stood fast.

"No fighting inside this sacred tent!" Coraloxa bellowed, and the belligerent duo withdrew, gleaming eyes hooded and wary. The old woman clung to the Padawan's robe, as though it were a physical shield.

Qui Gon addressed the leaders again. "You can see that the boy is unharmed, and unnamed by any tribe. His future is not yet begun. Here, his destiny can be decided peacefully. I ask first that the clan leaders publicly retract the false accusations leveled against one another."

This dictate resulted in another loud uproar, the tribes outside surging to their feet and flinging all manner of insults at one another and the Jedi, while the clan leaders under the canopy bristled with resentment and defiance. It was Qui Gon whose hand strayed to his weapon's hilt this time, while Obi Wan's fierce gaze swept over the two sides of the assembly, ready for trouble.

The tumult died down. Though it was unheard of and mutually intolerable, each of the clan leaders stood and haltingly retracted their former statements. Then each executed a stiff bow to the other and sat again, glowering sullenly. The tribes rumbled and shifted restlessly.

Obi Wan caught his mentor's eye, projecting a vibrant Force-borne image of angry bantha herds milling on the beach. Qui Gon's mouth twisted as he fought not to betray any amusement.

"Now." He returned his attention to their volatile interlocutors. "We must come to a peaceful agreement regarding this child's future home." More shouting followed this pronouncement. It was a full minute or more before it was quiet enough to continue, during which time Obi Wan's snide private depiction transformed into an image of the squabbling Senators on Coruscant, many of them garbed and adorned in bantha-hide robes and headdresses. Qui Gon dampened the mental bond he shared with his apprentice and shot the boy a repressive look.

"Each of you lays a claim to this child. Will you allow the Republic's representative to make a fair judgment on your behalf?"

He already knew the answer. His Padawan's eyebrows crept upward in an expression of bland disapprobation as the gathered Quinlox again erupted into bickering and protest, foreign expletives and hoarse denunciations bandied about on the salt air.

"I have already told you, Jedi!" Coraloxa called out, as though on cue. "You will not sway us with your abstract and bloodless laws. We hold to our own ways, our own traditions!"

"I concur," Loxanthan added, with a dignified nod of his head in the rival clan matriarch's direction. The two leaders stared at each other, stunned to find themselves in such close accord about anything.

"Well, that's a beginning," the Jedi master muttered.

"If you say so, master," Obi Wan quipped, watching the restless clans warily.

"Your turn, Padawan."

The command caught the young Jedi momentarily off guard, but he maintained his outward composure perfectly. Qui Gon stepped back while the Padawan spoke to the clan leaders, his voice pitched low and evenly. A gentle current of Force-suggestion smoothed his words, weighted them with an authority far in excess of that granted him by age and experience.

"You are not on Querred Minor, but on Vandor, under protection of the Galactic Senate. As such, you are under the jurisdiction of Republic law, and subject to its rule."

The stubborn Quinlox were not so easily swayed. "So you come not to _mediate_ but to impose the Republic's will upon us?" Loxanthan sneered.

"It is not a question of imposition," Obi Wan continued, deftly countering this accusation. "You willingly accepted refugee status here. Will you not willingly accept the customs and protections of Republic law as well? The two are one thing."

The huge matriarch of the Cora-quin guffawed, waving a webbed hand at him. "Hear the pretty talk of law and protection. They raise you to sophistry in that Temple, Jedi-ling. But you have no life-wisdom to stand behind those empty phrases. Perhaps Nexaloxa should take you back to the quin-talog and suckle you into manhood before you dare preach law and order to us."

The Force twisted sharply with Obi Wan's indignation, but the Padawan remained outwardly serene. Qui Gon watched his breath rise and fall once, twice…

"I m indeed inexperienced," the young Jedi replied, at last. "But I do not see that the Quinlox have any wiser solution than that offered by the Republic."

It was a daring and perfectly pitched statement, minutely balanced between concession and challenge. Qui Gon nodded in approval. _Good boy._

The huge clan matriarch of the Cora-quin spoke first. "On Querred Minor, we would have settled such a dispute in the traditional manner. But we are denied our own customs here. We are far from home, and forbidden the ancient ways. For us now there is only the meaningless decision of your bloodless courts, or open warfare, outside all law. Your Republic has left us little choice."

The Jedi master stepped forward again, picking up the argument where his Padawan had left off. "As the official mediator, acting on behalf of the Galactic Republic, I have the authority to decide how this dispute will be resolved. If both sides will agree to a decision without bloodshed, then we will decide the matter according to your traditional laws."

Loxanthan's eyes narrowed. "The Jedi will enforce the outcome of a _kal-tarquin?_" he asked, astonished.

Qui Gon bowed. "The Republic has granted me authority in this affair; and I in my turn grant that authority back to your people. If you have a custom for settling disputes such as this, besides warfare, then we shall abide by it." He stood tall, holding both disbelieving clan chieftains in his piercing gaze. Beside him, Obi Wan stirred infinitesimally, a chime-note of alarm faintly ringing in the Force.

Shocked silence reigned outside the confines of the tented space. Then heads began to nod and whispers floated in the air, mingling with the susurration of the waves. The unexpected honor of self-sovereignty, the possibility that the mighty Republic did not hold itself superior to the accumulated wisdom of their folkways, flittered and rustled among the gathered crowd like a stiff breeze off the shoreline.

The tall man glanced briefly at his apprentice. The gambit was bold, and risky. Obi Wan had yet to learn such deep trust in instinct; his open-eyed look conveyed equal measures of respect and apprehension. Qui Gon's eyes crinkled in a faint smile of encouragement.

"We have such a custom," Loxanthan declared. "It is very old, and honorable, and I think all here would bind themselves to its judgment. In such a case, our old ways would require a _kal-tarquin. _ A trial by tide."

"Explain."

"There is no bloodshed, Jedi," the Quinlox assured him. "It is a trial of endurance, of nerve. We take our dispute to the tides, which break the weak and only smooth the strong. Those whom the tide favors, who are like sea-stones and not splintered wood – these are the ones worthy of claiming justice for themselves."

Qui Gon hesitated. "And you would test the contenders for this boy's custody in such a manner? By some kind of ordeal?"

Coraloxa nodded, her heavy neck wobbling. "Yes," she agreed. "Let us see who is worthier: Cora-quin or Loxa-quin."

"What exactly is involved in this _kal-tarquin_ ?" the Jedi asked.

The matriarch was happy to expound. "It is simple. Each clan will offer one of their own to the tides. These will be fixed to a stone at the edge of the surf, when the sea is at it slowest ebb, facing the tides with their gills bound shut . As the sea rises higher and higher, they are sunk beneath the judgment of the waves."

"You mean they are at risk of drowning," Obi Wan clarified.

Coraloxa's gleaming eyes raked over him dispassionately. "The first to lose courage and call for rescue is the loser. The decision is settled in favor of the more steadfast."

Qui Gon did not speak aloud his thoughts on the use of near drowning as a judicial tool. He noted that his Padawan was maintaining a carefully neutral expression as well.

After a brief consultation with his advisors, Loxanthan spoke before the assembly. "The Loxa-quin consent to trial by tide, and to its outcome. We will bind ourselves to the traditions of our people, if the Cora-quin will do the same."

Coraloxa was not to be outdone. "We too shall take this conflict to the tides. They shall judge to which clan this child belongs by destiny and right. It is settled, Jedi." The clan matron sat down with a regal sweep of her broad hand.

"One moment," Qui Gon said. All eyes, including Obi Wan's turned to him. "There is another, a third path, which this child's future might take. He could also return with us to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant."

"What?" The two chieftains and Nexaloxa the nurse cried out in unison.

"He is possessed of the gift," the Jedi continued serenely. "The Jedi Order also lays a claim to his boy, if your people will allow it."

"_Allow_ it?" Loxanthan bellowed. "Allow your cult of pallid wizards to take our own blood away from us? We shall not abide such a thought, and neither will the Cora-quin!"

"But you have pledged yourselves to honor the outcome of the trial; you have sworn to obey the decree of the tides," Qui Gon argued calmly.

"What has that to do with you, Jedi?" Coraloxa barked.

"I also shall participate in this trial. Should I prevail, the child will return to Coruscant with us, to live in the Temple and be trained as Jedi."

A renewed outbreak of fury sounded among the watching clansmembers. The leaders sat rigid, stunned and caught off-balance. Obi Wan tensed, and Qui Gon laid a hand on his shoulder.

"You have submitted to our laws," Loxanthan rumbled, slowly. "And therefore you have the right to participate. Let the tides judge the worth of your clan, Jedi; they give no preference to rank and accolade." He turend to Coraloxa, who reluctantly gestured her assent.

"Then I will meet you at low tide tomorrow morning," Qui Gon replied.

"Wait, Jedi," the matriarch cut sharply across his assurance. "You commit to this trial, but you must bind yourself to all its terms. Besides the one who faces the tides, a blood relative must watch from shore. If this spectator loses heart and calls for his clan mate to be rescued, this also ends the contest. Thus both those in the sea and those who bear witness must prove their courage."

"I see," Qui Gon responded curtly. "My Padawan will stand witness to the contest."

"Not so fast," Loxanthan hissed. "You must do this in the traditional manner, or we shall not recognize the validity of the trial." He paused as the Jedi master shifted his weight in impatience, and then continued solemnly. "It is an elder of the clan who watches, and always a younger member who faces the tides. Preferably a younger son of the bloodline." He leaned forward, eager to see if this revelation would unsettle the visitor, perhaps even cause him to withdraw his suggestion that the child be taken to Coruscant.

The Jedi master was indeed taken aback, at least momentarily. He drew in a deep breath and frowned deeply, his eyes narrowing in displeasure.

"These terms or nothing," Coraloxa insisted.

Qui Gon's mouth thinned, and his gaze flickered uneasily toward his young apprentice.

But Obi Wan was already stepping forward to stand before the smug clan leaders, his countenance sober but determined. "We accept these terms," he declared without a shadow of hesitation.


	5. Chapter 5

**Trial by Tide**

* * *

5.

Obi Wan stood at the edge of the wet sand, where the smooth sweep of beach crumbled into jagged shards and pebbles, strewn with mollusks and brightly colored crustacean shells. The ebbing tide burbled and hissed among the crevices, sucking outward and then pooling in bubbling sworls again as the ocean's pulse beat its morning rhythm.

Beyond the ragged line of tidepools, the breakers rolled glittering beneath the sun's first soft touch. A line of thranctills soared in loose formation, skimming the ocean's undulating surface. Far past the tumbling lines of foam, a dorsal fin broke the dark plane and disappeared again.

Inhale. The Force swelled beneath the waves, within the gently warming air. Behind him the two clans of Quinlox murmured and jostled, a muttering counterpoint to the muted crashing of the waves. He could sense Qui Gon's presence, an immovable rock amidst the churning emotions of the tribes. Coralanthan's piercing wail rose above the calls of the seabirds. Nexaloxa's soothing murmur muted the baby's cries into soft whimpers and then silence. Exhale.

And again. He felt the individual grains of sand chafing between his outstretched toes, the invisible axis of balance holding his spine aligned with gravity's pull, the Force brimming, overflowing in his veins, filling every cell with vitality, with strength to endure the ordeal ahead. He deepened the inhalation, hearing the words of a beloved crèche master schooling his initiate clan, urging them to draw breath deeper, deeper, until it saturated every cell, reached the furthest extremities of their bodies. The air was salt, and crisp with cold moisture, clean and pure. Deeper. Usually one or two of the younglings would fall asleep during the exercise. His eyelids closed, and he smiled, remembering.

He exhaled with the slow retreat of the tide, inhaled with its egress. He breathed in the whole sea, the whole sky, the whole planet. The Force surged within him. There was no self, no fear. Only the Force.

Qui Gon's hand settled lightly on his shoulder. The tides of breath and ocean rose and fell, unified, boundless. He stayed centered, turned the periphery of his attention to the older Jedi.

"Are they discontent with the arrangements, master?"

"No. There was some question whether we ought in fact to be considered clan members, but I convinced them that Jedi are _all_ blood relatives, from a certain point of view. After all , midichlorians can be physically measured. The Force runs in our blood, and so we are all related in some sense."

It was a good thought. They relished it together, for a moment. "That was well argued, master."

Qui Gon smiled. "Yes, I thought it was." Another moment of quiet enjoyment. A rogue breaker smashed sideways against its companions, wreaking havoc among the tidepools. Spray spattered over their trousers. The tall man shifted his stance, exhaled. "Obi Wan. I owe you an apology for rushing headlong into this … so called trial…before I understood that it would be you, and not myself, whom I thereby endangered," he said quietly.

But there was nothing to forgive. "I volunteered," the Padawan told him, simply. "And it is for the best. The clans will abstain from bloodshed and resulting exile; and Coralanthan will be brought to the Temple where he belongs. For such causes, I am willing to go for a bit of a swim."

"Tied to a rock," Qui Gon reminded him. "Had our positions been reversed –"

"Had they been, master," his apprentice smirked, "I would surely have volunteered _you_ without hesitation."

"Brat. I trust you remember your breathing techniques?"

"Of course. I am not worried about the task," Obi Wan reassured him. He could feel Qui Gon's concern plainly, despite his teacher's efforts to mask it beneath a lighthearted manner. When Qui Gon managed only a thin, preoccupied smile in reply, he added, "Just try not to embarrass us both by calling for respite before I do."

But the Jedi master did not seem to find the remark humorous. That watched the tides a moment longer, until a conch horn sounded on the beach behind them.

"It is time, Padawan."

* * *

As the sun rose, a heavy morning mist gathered over the coast, veiling the company in thin white tatters. To one side of the beach stood Coraloxa and a tall, thin Cora-quin male, the clan matriarch's grandson. Some distance away waited Loxanthan and his youngest brother, both scowling at the Cora-quin gathered on the beach, and even more fiercely glaring at the Jedi standing cloaked at the water's edge. A small awning had been erected in the middle of the sand, beneath which Nexaloxa and the infant patiently waited the decision of the tides. Spectators from both clans milled about the area, eager to witness the ancient contest. The waters had retreated to their nadir, revealing a long expanse of pebbles and grit. White breakers seethed into a burbling foam and lapped at the bases of three mighty stones set ten meters apart, a threesome of dark spears rising from the waves. In the center of each had been fixed a heavy metal ring.

An old and bent-backed Quinlox from each tribe made sure the younger contestants were securely bound to these boulders, wrists tied to the metal rings, their backs pressed against the stones, facing away from shore. Obi Wan waited his turn, watching the proceedings with a thin line of distaste marring his forehead. Qui Gon stood nearby, brooding.

At last a wizened member of the Cora-quin moved forward, summoning him into the surf. Wordlessly, he removed his cloak and handed it to Qui Gon, along with saber and belt. He had already divested himself of boots and tunics, and now his skin prickled with cold in the sharp air. He trudged through the low breakers behind his guide, the waves lapping at their ankles and knees. The water was icy, numbing his bare feet as he picked his way over the treacherous rocks. The elderly Quinlox nudged and gestured him into position against the last remaining stone, and set to binding his hands to the ring, twisting a thick fiber rope into heavy knots and pulling till the cords drove hard into muscle and bone. Hissing a little, Obi Wan breathed out and leaned against the stone, squinting at the painful reflections off the oncoming waves.

Now all he had to do was wait.

The waters rose from knee to thigh, and then higher, each successive surge carrying the tide further up the beach, higher. Soon enough icy water slapped across his bare stomach, shocking in its intensity. Breathe. Relax. He was already numb, and starting to tremble from cold. The hours wore on toward late morning. Behind him, on the beach, he could hear the murmurs of the spectators, some wandering about, others settling in for a long wait. He could feel Qui Gon's patient vigil: the Jedi master was kneeling a short distance up the shoreline, watching him intently, serene confidence rolling off him in waves greater than the physical ones pounding against his body.

The tides rose higher still; to his left, the Quinloxan participants also stood facing determinedly out to sea, stoically enduring the influx of waves without motion or sound. The breakers slammed mercilessly against the reef beyond; soon every third or fourth one would rise before them and crash overhead, momentarily engulfing them in dark, roaring thunder before each successive wall of water paseds to be replaced again by the sun-warmed air. Salt stung his eyes, and they ran with tears, as his hands were not free to wipe the unwelcome moisture away. His Padawan braid lay limp and sopping against his shoulder, droplets pattering off its tangled tuft. The sea bobbed and surged at waist level, stirring up into an uneasy fervor. Rocks and shards rolled about underfoot. One banged hard into his shin as the current sucked and pulled at it. He felt the skin break, but thought the cut must be shallow. And the sea water would wash away the blood anyway.

At noon, the crowd on the beach had doubled. The waves rolled over him at shoulder height, the breakers regularly dipping him beneath their cold onslaught. The water was opaque with salt and minerals, and the silt stirred up by the water's action; on its surface floated a scum of brine and floating fragments of native seaweed. More sharp stones thrashed and spun around his legs; another heavy piece caught his knee and possibly drew more blood, but the injury was minor. He held his breath through the next breaker and then squinted at his competitors once it had passed. The Quinlox were indigenous to a watery world, and were accomplished divers. Though these two had their gills bound shut, their physiology and long cultural traditions still gave them a certain advantage. He was sure they at least were not shuddering with cold, struggling to maintain their body temperature. Through the Force, he could feel their stubborn, almost obsessive, desire to win the contest. Dark ripples of pride and contempt echoed around them as well. The crowd on the beach also emanated its own energy: curiosity, hatred of rival clan members, pride and defiance, a grasping need to claim the boy Coralanthan for their own, and a sickly but unmistakable blood-lust. Not a few of the spectators hoped to see a genuine drowning today – and he had a strong sense that he was the preferred victim of this tragedy.

The only healthy presence in the entire gathering was that of Qui Gon, who knelt near the edge of the encroaching surf, sending a steady flood of calm encouragement across their shared bond. Obi Wan blocked out his awareness of the seething, imbalanced emotions of the other beings and focused on this serene energy. He fanned his inner heat with the Force, propelled his sluggish circulation with its help, willed his nerves to respond, not to succumb to the numbing effect of the water. He could feel his body protest against the long hours of submersion and inaction, but the Force was his ally.

And still the tides rose.

* * *

Qui Gon could feel his Padawan's misery. The sea was cold – far too cold for a human to be submerged in for so many hours. He had not calculated in that factor; drowning was one danger – hypothermia another. Thus far Obi Wan had done well: he could clearly sense the boy's alert state, his calm emotions. Jedi training prepared initiates for such physical trials, but not at such length or extremity. Still, he was not yet genuinely worried.

Around him, behind him, the Quinlox stared out at the pounding surf, eager eyes fixed upon the three young figures facing the tides. The pulse of Vandor's ocean turned every six hours; it would not be long now before the water rose so high that there would be no respite; in those minutes, the whole contest would be decided, and with it the boy Coralanthan's fate. The clans were astir with a primal desire to see a harsh ending to this ancient battle of wills. Morbid curiosity flittered among them, and echoes of their remembered past. They recalled Querred Minor before the industrialists had taken over their planet and forced them into virtual slavery. They remembered other such trials, cruel tests of nerve, foes who did not survive the experience. They remembered fleeing to the epublic, to the humiliations and deprivations of their exiled life. They recollected many things, and hoped for many others. And throughout this psychic medley ran a thread of wonder, that the universe had permitted them the exercise of their ancient ceremonies, that Jedi would deign to participate in such things, that the tides would still act as judges for them, though they stood on an alien shore.

At last the fateful moment came. The last breaker, retreating from shore, did not ebb below the competitors' heads. There would be no respite now, no return to the air and light. The three young beings were anchored firmly to the sea's bottom, doomed to die unless they called for help or their watchful families plunged into the waves to release them. Coralox and Loxanthan stood, signaling appointed swimmers forward, crouching at the edge of the waves, ready to dive at a signal. But neither clan leader called for an end to the trial. They watched the waters seethe and churn, silent and stony-faced.

Another minute passed.

Another minute.

_Perhaps they will let their grandson or brother die before they will yield this contest,_ the Jedi master thought ruefully. _This is a game played by fools- and I am part of it._

The breakers piled on atop another, higher and higher, burying the three beneath an avalanche of endless water, of stifling darkness. The crowd drew closer to the surf's edge, sure that the end was near, certain that a death was at hand, madly eager to witness the culmination of the trial. Coraloxa and Loxanthan glanced nervously at one another, at the waves, at the Jedi. The swimmers tensed.

Another minute. Qui Gon's own lungs began to burn, in sympathy. Jedi training would enable Obi Wan to hold his breath for a long time… but not indefinitely.

Yet another minute. The Quinlox did not yield. In the Force, the faintest ripple of a question, if not outright _distress,_ from Obi Wan. He sent a wave of reassurance, of supreme confidence. _I am here. Hold on. I will not fail you._

Another minute. The clan leaders stood rigid, lips moving – a prayer? Or simply counting the passing seconds?

And then the crowd screamed, in unison with the Force's vibrant warning. Dorsal fins had appeared in the water, dipping and arcing among the breakers.

* * *

Submerged in the dark and ice cold of Vandor's ocean, numb hands tied to the stone behind him, Obi Wan was one with the surging rhythm of the waves. The Force beckoned, just beyond the thin barrier of his lungs, the fragile wall of consciosness that divided him from death. He clamped his mouth shut, his pulse drumming hard, loud, slow and desperate in his ears. His chest was constricted, aching horribly, and his limbs already leaden, unresponsive, too cold to move or even to tremble. Cold encroached upon him, and the fires of life flickered, guttered in the onslaught. He pushed his blood through his veins, the Light urging him onward past these last seconds, past the point of no return.

Something brushed against his leg. Slimy, muscular. Alive. Adrenaline fear flooded him, a tang of new vitality. Hunger slid around him in the waters, hunger and hostility. He remembered the blood spreading in the water from his knee and leg… Predators. They must be.

A jolt of terror from one of the Quinlox, a scream of primal horror drowning in the cold water. Pain, thrashing, a flurry of hunger. Something whipped against him again. He reached groggily through the cold, pushing against the thing's primitive mind, its knot of appetites and instincts, projecting danger and warning. The Force shuddered within him, carried the command across its currents…but the things only drew away a short distance, circling warily, not leaving.

His lungs burned. Blackness constricted his chest, and then his throat, and then, at last, his mind. Water flooded in through his slackening jaws, past his throat, ramming into his core, erupting into pain and blackness. His head throbbed fit to burst, and the world contracted, terribly, icily, into a single point of fire, into his final soundless cry. The Force shone, rending spirit from body, surrounding, pervading, calling him home, calling his _name _with Qui Gon's voice, cutting the twine about his wrists, seizing him beneath the shoulders and dragging him upward through darkness even as he fell into its utter depths.


	6. Chapter 6

**Trial by Tide**

* * *

6.

Qui Gon Jinn ploughed his way back up out of Vandor's crashing surf, carving through foam and breakers, strewing gravel and crushed shells underfoot. Salt water streamed from his clothing and hair as he hastened to the water's edge, hauling his limp and ice-cold Padawan onto the hot sand above the tide line.

"Obi Wan."

Broad hands pressed hard into the young Jedi's diaphragm and chest, expelling gushing rivers of water from unresponsive lungs. He rolled Obi Wan onto his side, crouched over him as the Padawan coughed up murkier spouts of liquid, heaving spasmodically.

"Obi Wan. Breathe." He splayed a hand against his apprentice's back, sent a sharp wave of Force energy through his body. The Padawan retched again, shuddered, and gasped, a terrible rasping inhalation, and then vomited more water. Qui Gon knelt, heedless of the gathered Quinlox, the shouts echoing up and down the shore, the thrashing and blood in the waves where hunters were busy repelling the predatory creatures beneath the waves.

"Padawan." The Jedi master chafed at leaden limbs, laid a hand against an icy cheek. Obi Wan sucked in another lungful of air, gagged and coughed, turned onto his back again. Nexaloxa appeared by Qui Gon's side, proferring blankets. He gratefully seized them, pulled the boy into sitting position, tightly wrapped the cloth about his shivering frame.

"Master..."

Relief cascaded through him, a warmth melting the cold vise about his heart. He closed his eyes, feeling the warm breeze on his face, the steady drip of water off his tangled hair and clothing hems, the gritty texture of the sand beneath his knees. Obi Wan slumped backwards against him, too distressed – or possibly disoriented – to stand on dignity.

"…Master… I thought…" Obi Wan protested, between chattering teeth.

He summoned his discarded cloak from the sand nearby and added it to the layers of swaddling. "Quiet. Just breathe. Let your head clear."

There were two deep cuts on Obi Wan's leg, oozing steady rivulets of blood. Qui Gon frowned over them, applying bacta and medical glue from his belt pouch.

"Ow!" The young Jedi flinched. "Where...what happened...the Quinlox?" he muttered.

Qui Gon scowled. "One was injured; a bite - but he is out of the water, resting. The other was pulled out by his brother. Hold still, Obi Wan, I need to tend to this."

His apprentice made some objection, but it was mercifully cut short by another coughing fit. Qui Gon finished his task and accepted the small shell-bowl of liquid offered by Nexaloxa. "Here, drink."

"The contest," Obi Wan insisted, wheezing. "Master! You didn't-"

"_Drink."_

The boy gulped down the liquid, spluttering a little on its bitter, restorative dregs. "Ugh."

"And no, I did not _embarrass_ you. The Quinlox yielded first. Though next time, Padawan, I would prefer you call for help _before_ you lose consciousness."

"...Yes, master." They sat, soaking in the hot sun, the Padawan's violent shivering subsiding into an exhausted huddle against Qui Gon. The Force smoothed, surged in more placid rhythm. The waves spattered on the shore, the wind softly caressed the sands, birds wheeled overhead.

"Master Jedi."

Qui Gon glanced up, aware that the clan chieftains had been standing a short distance away, staring at them, for some time. Behind the leaders were arrayed their kindred, so many eyes gazing in open astonishment at the two Jedi, at the nurse and infant crouched a short distance away. A thractill's clarion cry lanced across the silent vignette.

Loxanthan stepped forward, the brisk wind rippling his heavy woven garb. "The tides have judged. Your clan has prevailed, Jedi."

Coralanthan squalled and wriggled in his nurse's arms. Obi Wan shifted restlessly, struggling against Qui Gon's cautionary grip.

Coraloxa waved a webbed hand at them. "The child will return to Coruscant with you, for you were the last to enter the waves, the last to seek respite from the sea's judgment. Your tribe has proved its worthiness. The Quinlox recognize your rights in this matter."

Obi Wan was pushing to his feet, albeit unsteadily. Qui Gon rose with him, giving up the fight. "The Jedi Order is honored that your clans entrust this child to our keeping. In him, your families have a shared destiny."

The rival chieftains nodded, exchanged a look of grudging respect. Poverty stricken, marginalized, forgotten they might be – but their mutual offspring would transcend the limitations of their humble existence. While neither could suffer the other to claim the child, there was a certain satisfaction in surrendering him to a higher cause.

"We thank you for your arbitration of our dispute," Loxanthan declared, bowing gravely with Coraloxa.

The Jedi returned the gesture, in solemn unison.

* * *

That evening, a formal celebration of the newly-forged accord was held beneath the ceremonial awning on the beach. The chieftains, their advisors, the Jedi, Nexaloxa and her charge were all present for the solemnities. The clans gathered outside, merrily cooking around fire pits dug in the sand, dancing and singing traditional chants. A strong odor of cooking _sherrek- _ the eel like predator which had attacked the trial participants earlier – and some other, more pungent aroma wafted across the shoreline.

Obi Wan, by that time more or less fully recovered from the ordeal, made a wry face. "I was famished until they started _cooking."_

"We've just resolved a pitched controversy, Obi Wan. Do not incite a diplomatic incident by insulting our hosts."

"I suppose I should be grateful it's not a cannibal feast," the Padawan remarked. "Your fondness for local customs has landed us in far _worse _ situations."

Qui Gon grimaced. "This one was sufficiently problematic for my taste, I think."

They reached the central pavilion, where the two chieftains were making a public declaration of the Jedi's victory: an official transfer of custody and a renunciation of all rights over Corlanthan. Nexaloxa stood within the shelter of the tent, where low tables had been arranged in readiness for a banquet.

"Esteemed Jedi," Loxanthan boomed at them, spreading his arms wide in welcome. "Join us now in the ceremonial meal of concord, the _tel-amaquin. _ It shall mark the formal beginning of peace between our two clan families and yours."

"You have reached a peace agreement between yourselves?" Qui Gon inquired, genuinely surprised. He exchanged a bemused glance with his apprentice.

"Indeed," Coraloxa supplied. "In vindicating your claim to our grandson, the tides have also taught us well: Cora-quin and Loxa-quin are of one heritage. We share a law and a life-way, and we share blood ties now, through this child of yours. In giving the child to the Jedi, the tides have approved this bond between us. We shall honor it hereafter."

"The tides are truly wise, then," the Jedi master decided, bowing to the assembled courts.

Loxanthan clapped his hands together. "Come!" he commanded. "Let those who faced the tides join in the _tel-amaquin_ now. Let us compact our three clans in everlasting amity. Young Jedi – yes, you. Come here and share the meal of friendship with those of our own bloodlines."

It took a subtle shove between the shoulder blades to move Obi Wan forward. Qui Gon watched in amusement as his Padawan entered the canopied area, settling apprehensively at a low table beside the two Quinloxans who had endured the morning's trial beside him. He shot Qui Gon a mutinous look as a host of servants appeared bearing laden trays. The Jedi master merely smiled serenely and gestured to the foodstuffs, one finger raised in warning. No diplomatic incidents.

The servers placed the shell-fashioned platters before the sitting figures. The two young Quinlox smiled in anticipation. Obi Wan's face went still.

"And now," Coraloxa beamed, "The feast of friendship."

The covers were lifted with a flourish. In each shell was an exquisite sample of the royal delicacy of the Quinlox people – freshly hatched quanta worms on a bed of seaweed and flatbread. The masses of tiny, wriggling worms shimmered wetly in the light of the suspended glowlamps. The Quinlox raised their portions to their mouths in evident delight. Obi Wan looked to Qui Gon for immediate rescue.

But he had already done that once today – and they could not afford to offend their hosts. The tall man raised his eyebrows in silent expectation and command.

With the eyes of the entire company upon him, Obi Wan hesitantly bit off, chewed and swallowed a part of the dish, willing his senses and gag reflex to obey. The gathered Quinlox cheered in appreciation, and set to feasting on their own less revolting food, gaily chattering and murmuring as drinking shells and various dishes were passed hand to hand. Qui Gon slipped through the throng and found a place beside his apprentice, managing to keep a straight face as the young Jedi choked down the remainder of the ceremonial meal and took many deep centering breaths to make sure it stayed down.

"Wonderful, is it not, Padawan?"

"Indescribable," Obi Wan agreed, weakly.

* * *

Sekk Rithee jammed a second gob of sticky into his jowl and chomped hard. So many blasted reports to fill out, so many extradition and deportation cases to manage, and he hadn't even had a decent cup of stimcaff yet. He should prob'ly give that stuff up, too, but bacci deprivation was hard enough without adding other burdens to his rapidly unraveling nerves. He chewed with manic enthusiasm until the second wad of sticky lost most its gingamint flavor. Then he spat it out in the 'cinerator and took a quick fresh air break outside.

He was unexpectedly accosted by the younger Jedi – the teenager Jinn had brought along for the ride. The youngster bowed to him, braid swinging and cloak sweeping the littered duracrete decking.

"Well now," Rithee greeted this apparition. "Does this mean you and Master Jinn have given up on our little lost cause?"

The Padawan opened his mouth, and then snapped it shut again. He took a breath. "No, sir. The Quinlox have renounced all intention of clan warfare and come to a peace accord. You should have no further trouble from the clans."

Rithee liked the sound of that. And he liked the sound of "_no, sir"_ even better. Maybe the young Jedi wasn't such a snotty little bastard after all. "What about the missing kid?" he demanded.

The apprentice glanced at the Republic cruiser waiting for departure on the tarmac beyond. "The Quinlox have given custody of the child to the Jedi Order. He will return with us to Coruscant. We are also taking his nurse, and need to request a return transport for her in three standard day's time. If that is convenient for you, of course."

Rithee was impressed. So the Jedi snagged the kid for themselves, huh? Well, that was one solution. And the Padawan seemed to have improved his outlook considerably. Must be the beneficial properties of all the negative ions hereon Vandor. Sea air was good for people that way, everybody knew that. "Easy as womprat pie.. I'll submit the transportation order personally."

"Thank you," the boy said, bowing again. He lingered, as though unsure how to proceed.

Rithee decided the youngster wasn't so bad at all, not really. "You Jedi have been a tremendous help to me," he said, feeling generous. "It's no trouble."

"I, ah… I was actually wondering if you might be able to help me with my studies," the Jedi said, eyebrows twisting together quizzically. "I would deeply appreciate your help."

Rithee beamed and puffed out his chest. Flattering, really. But he _was_ an expert. It was good to know the Jedi Order recognized him. Nobody else in the Republic's security beaurocracy did. "How can I be of assistance?"

The Padawan colored a bit. Intimidated by the close proximity to such an experienced elder, Rithee shrewdly concluded. "There is some new immigrant legislation pending before the Senate," the boy explained. "I wonder if you might give me your professional opinion on the matter."

What a fortuitous request! "I can do better than that, my lad. I happen to have a rather lengthy article I composed on the subject – all ready for publication, you see, but the local media is too hard-headed to recognize good analysis when they read it. I'll upload a copy to your datapad. It'll make good reading material for you on the way home."

He was rewarded by a dazzling smile. Ah, had he known what pleasure his offer would have brought, he might have invited the Jedi to stay longer. He led the way into his mortifyingly untidy private office and quickly transferred the lengthy essay onto the Jedi's compact reader. "There you are. Any time I can help you with your studies, it's my pleasure."

The apprentice tucked the device back into his belt, eyes still twinkling with undisguised enthusiasm. The kid must really be scholarly material. Odd bunch, the Jedi.

"Thank you again, Officer Rithee. Master Jinn mentioned that he would commend your accurate and professional assessment of the situation in the official Senate report."

"Hope you enjoyed your time here on Vandor," the portly man said, by way of parting, as they reached the edge of the docking platform.

"Incomparable," the Padawan replied, and off he went, with an energetic spring in his stride.

Rithee unwrapped another piece of sticky and popped it in his mouth. He liked his job a little better this morning, for some odd reason. He watched the young Jedi cross the decks, and ascend the shuttle's boarding ramp. For a moment he caught a glimpse of Qui Gon Jinn, speaking briefly with the youngster at the open hatchway, and then shepherding him inside with a hand on his shoulder. The panel hissed closed, the shuttle rose on repulsors, the drives fired, and soon the Jedi were a retreating speck in Vandor's cerulean skies, a dwindling memory of troubles that no longer weighed upon Rithee's shoulders.

He gave those overburdened and under-recognized shoulders a small shrug, and returned to his cluttered office and manifold duties, with a small bounce of satisfaction in his own step.

FINIS


End file.
